


You Could Easily Have Me

by vtn



Series: And Justice For All [2]
Category: Justice (Band)
Genre: DJ - Freeform, Ed Banger Records, House Music, M/M, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xavier is intrigued but frustrated by his new flatmate, Gaspard.  He's attractive, romantic, brilliant - but painfully shy and probably straight.  Not to mention Xavier is still tangled up in the ropes of an ending relationship.  This is a companion piece to This Could Be Beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Easily Have Me

"I'm just a fool for love/I just can't get enough"

—Das Pop

 

Bertrand's apartment is full of boxes and plastic toys; Xavier walks carefully across the floor, lifting up his towel to step over Transformers and tubes of paint. He finally reaches the bathroom, after what seems like ages, and rests against the wall, his feet kneading into the tiles, for a few minutes before he turns on the shower and discards the towel to step in.

 

The water is too cold, then too hot, then nearly perfect. Xavier warily eyes a small spider in the opposite corner from the side of the curtain.

 

"Do you realize you've left the door open?" he hears Bertrand say. He didn't realize it, of course, but that's not something he's keen to admit.

 

"I know you enjoy it," he says cheekily and pulls back the curtain a little bit to wink at Bertrand. "Nice shower curtains, by the way." They have a pattern of flowers and look about twenty years old.

 

"I picked them out just for you. I knew you would love them," Bertrand says. Xavier ducks back behind the curtain and looks around.

 

"Can I use your, ah, sponge rose?" he asks, inventing the term off the top of his head. The object in question is one of those sponges made of mesh fabric scrunched together with a string tied around. Bertrand's is bright green and is much more appealing than the alternative (using his hands to wash himself).

 

"God damn it, Xavier," says Bertrand, which is an unexpected reaction but not necessarily a bad one, because his voice has suddenly gone husky and pleading. "Do you not realize what you do to me? Asking if you can borrow that, uh, thing, whatever it is called, and even giving it a sweet name like 'sponge rose'—yes, of course you can, because now every time I use it I'll think of you and...."

 

"And?" Xavier is purposely coy now, even as he starts to wash himself.

  
"Damn it, I shouldn't have to explain that. Stop acting so young."

 

"Mm." Xavier finishes with the sponge and hangs it back up. A thought occurs to him and he sniffs it to judge whether it smells like him. Turns out he can't really tell, though; maybe he's just too used to his own smell. Sometimes he wonders what other people think he smells like. It is naturally appealing? Is it something one has to get over? Does he smell a bit like his mother's perfume? He'd hate that last option. "Oh," he says, a stray thought suddenly derailing his previous train. "Is your roommate a prude or something?"

 

"What?"

 

"You never fuck me when he's here." Bertrand seems taken aback by Xavier's crudeness, because it's a moment until he speaks.

 

"Oh. Yeah. Or—I don't know for sure. But he's very quiet. Shuts up completely the moment I start talking about anything more controversial than what I want for lunch. And you know how these things can be walking on thin ice." Not really—Xavier lives alone. He's considering remedying that at some point. Too bad he can't live here. Or maybe not, because the shower doesn't work right. It keeps sputtering at him.

 

"The simple answer: he wants to jump your bones," says Xavier. He laughs to himself. It actually is simple—all those pretentious, quiet artist types, saying they're sensitive and they've waited for the right girl to come along? Never really waiting for a girl to come along. Xavier's investigated himself—the evidence is conclusive.

 

"Life isn't simple," says Bertrand. "He's a strange guy. Really talented though. And nice; easy to live with. And funny when he's drunk."

 

"That's good enough." Xavier turns off the water, steps out, enjoys the look on Bertrand's face at seeing his wet, naked body. Well, some things are simple!

 

\---

 

Spring arrives in Paris. Xavier is sitting around in the grass outside their art school with five or six friends, getting teased as usual for being at least one of the following: small, younger than everyone else, gay, Asian.

 

It's about this point that Antoine appears with Emilie and Gaspard in tow, fighting over a coupon for chocolates. Everyone waves hello but continues their verbal abuse, so naturally, Antoine greets Xavier with, "How's my favorite Chinese homo?" Xavier throws a daisy at him, which probably doesn't help his case.

 

"Just fine, thanks, until you showed your horrifying face," he teases, at which Antoine turns around and completely refuses to say a word until Xavier caves and says, "All right, you have a lovely face, Antoine."

 

"Hi!" says Emilie, completely oblivious to their quarrel, and drops right onto the grass, putting her feet up in Xavier's lap. Gaspard sits down and pulls a sketchbook out of his backpack. Xavier smirks at him for being his typically stoic self, but Gaspard winks in response, waving the coupon he's successfully snatched from Emilie's pocket. "Wait 'til you hear my news," Emilie singsongs, rocking back and forth.

 

"Is it to do with your lovely new boots?" Xavier asks.

 

"Noooo, though I'm glad you noticed. Tell them, Antoine!"

 

"He wants you to play in the band with us, Xavier," says Gaspard, because Antoine has been distracted by making bird noises at a poor hapless pigeon who has wandered onto the grass. "Didn’t you say you play the bass?"

 

Shit. Xavier must be bright red. He scrubs at his face and tries not to look so uncomfortable.

 

"I didn't say I could play it well!" he says.

 

"Well, look, we don't want you to be some kind of virtuoso or anything," Emilie says, rolling her eyes. "Just play the bass and wear your leather pants. You'll be set."

 

"Okay, okay!" He taps Antoine on the shoulder. "I'll join your band, Mister," he says, and Antoine frowns.

 

"You just distracted me!" he says, and then he smiles and says, "Fantastic, glad to have you" and ruffles Xavier's hair.

 

"We perform in two days," says Gaspard softly. "Find your best leather pants." And oh, Xavier will, because if Gaspard is going to be sitting at the drums behind him, he's more than a little tempted. Ever since he met Gaspard, he's had just a bit of a crush—what can you do, the boy is tall and soft-spoken and wears torn metalhead T-shirts and has stubble on his neck and hair that falls all over his face. He feels a little guilty for Bertrand's sake, but again—what can you do?

 

"Your mother was a whore!" says Antoine, interrupting Xavier's reverie, and at first Xavier is about to be all righteously offended on his sweet mother's behalf but it turns out Antoine is addressing the pigeon. Being a dignified sort of pigeon lady or gentleman, the pigeon flies away.

 

\---

 

Back in Bertrand's apartment and not long later, Xavier finds himself kicking off his shoes onto his new bed in his new room, still laughing about the day when he made the connection—"Gaspard Augé, you live with Gaspard Augé." And now that Xavier also lives with Gaspard Augé, he has a damn good reason to not talk about what's going on between him and Bertrand.

 

In fact, after some very deep and quiet discussing, they've agreed, despite heavy tensions, to cut it off completely. The biggest reason is of course Gaspard himself—Xavier is finding more and more each day that he's perfect, but of course that makes him untouchable. The second reason is that it used to be just a sex thing, the sort of thing where you can come over to a boy's apartment and tell him his shower curtain sucks, but now it's the sort of thing where you join him in good-natured shower curtain jokes because hey, you're getting to be pretty good friends, in the end.

 

But Gaspard—now he's another story.

 

A damn infuriating story, too, because either he's totally oblivious to Xavier's flirting, or Xavier isn't flirting with him enough. What he worries about, though, is that Gaspard is totally straight and totally ignoring him. And if he acts too much, and he acts unlike himself, then he'll lose this perfect thing.

 

"Do you like Italian food?" he asks Gaspard, who looks up from a design he's doing on the computer. "I know a great place. I thought I'd order in for the three of us."

 

"Oh, me? Sure."

 

See? Infuriating. He doesn't speak in full sentences when they're talking one-on-one. Maybe Xavier just needs to figure out the right topic.

 

"Nice car," he offers, eyeing the screen of Gaspard's computer.

 

"Thanks," says Gaspard. Nope.

 

"Do you like pudding?" Xavier tries. He's getting desperate.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing. Never mind."

 

"Did you say 'pudding'?"

 

"No, obviously!" Then Xavier feels a little bit guilty, and laughs. "Okay, maybe I said 'pudding'."

 

\---

 

So here's what Xavier has established: Gaspard does not like ABBA when he's told up front that it's ABBA, but he'll happily nod his head to B-sides if he doesn't know what he's being subjected to. Gaspard likes Judas Priest. Gaspard likes Metallica. Gaspard likes _This Is Spinal Tap_. Gaspard speaks fluent English but is only confident in it when he's singing, which is the complete opposite of Xavier, who hates singing in front of other people. He might not mind singing to Gaspard though—oops, romantic notion. Better not let those get in the way.

 

He does it anyway: Cole Porter is always appropriate. "_You're the top, you're the Coliseum…You're the top, you're the Louvre Museum…"_

 

"What is that crap?" says Gaspard. Xavier crosses himself and silently prays to the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, and even the Virgin Mary because it can't hurt that this is manly posturing and Gaspard does not actually consider it crap.

 

"It is not crap!"

 

"Calm down," says Gaspard, blinking through his thick hair. "I'm joking." Thank you, Father, Son, Holy Ghost, and Virgin Mary.

 

\---

 

And then they start to have Real Conversations, or at least something approaching Real Conversations. Xavier isn't sure when it starts—maybe it's the time they figure out a way to realistically deal with Xavier breaking a girl's heart, or maybe it's the time when Bertrand shows up late to dinner and they envision scenarios up to and including him being kidnapped by an international cartel.

 

But one warm night they're sitting on the rooftop and Xavier is feeling particularly open, owing probably to the fact that Bertrand and his friends are partying in the apartment and a song he loves is floating up through the ceiling. Gaspard is looking off into the distance, watching a pigeon flit between buildings.

 

"What are you thinking about?" Xavier asks softly. He can't help it. "You look so intense," he says, trying to soften the blow of the blunt question.

 

"Nothing," says Gaspard, noncommittal. Of course. Naturally. Xavier is about to get frustrated with him, but then he looks over and asks a question Xavier himself has been wondering about: "What do you think is the best way to get to know somebody?" For a second he's taken aback.

 

But then, miracle of miracles, wonder of wonders, he knows the answer! It's been there all along. He grins—it's so easy when you're already considering being infatuated with someone. Gaspard has become his muse, just like that.

 

"There are three," he says, because two more ways occur to him while he's thinking about how to phrase the first. "The first is to be lost with him." He once got lost in Venice on a school trip and met a pretty Italian girl. Neither of them could understand a word the other was saying, but sometimes these things don't matter, and she still kissed him before she showed him back to his hotel. "The second is to wake up next to him, and…" Bertrand and Xavier, ironically enough, used to always leave each other so they didn't have to deal with the awkwardness of mornings after. "The third…is to see him cry." That's the obvious one. It's the tragedy that makes life beautiful. "And then not only will you get to know him—you will understand him." He grins like it's the simplest thing, because he honestly feels that way.

 

"You always have the right answer," Gaspard says—and _laughs_ at him! The nerve!

 

"Not always," he says, hoping Gaspard can't tell how much he was burned by that. "I always hope to satisfy whoever has asked the question."

 

Gaspard mumbles something in response but some drunk girl from downstairs opens the door, looking a little bit tragic if not green in the face, and asks them if they're somebody important. She is sick on the stone floor, and Xavier and Gaspard laugh—Xavier not laughing at her, but because they are, actually, in a way, somebody important: they were roped into recording a song for a friend's record label, and it's about to be released, and they're being paid for it. Fifteen minutes of fame! Fifteen minutes of being somebody important!

 

\---

 

And then Xavier feels suddenly petulant. He decides to stick with Gaspard, suggesting that they make some music, to which Gaspard is happy enough to acquiesce but which ultimately results in nothing but frustration, because Xavier is thinking much more about possible ways to seduce him. He hops onto the bed, starting to undress out of sheer spite, thinking maybe, just maybe, Gaspard will get it for once, get it into his thick skull—

 

But Gaspard lays his hand on Xavier's elbow when he says goodnight, and Xavier's anger evaporates, leaving in its place a kind of needy sadness that really disgusts him. Gaspard leaves after staring blankly at Xavier—is that his pitying stare? His intrigued stare? Or just his default stare?

 

Xavier tosses and turns but can't sleep, and instead trudges off to Bertrand's room, feeling guilty but at least safe once Bertrand's arms are around him. He buries his face in Bertrand's chest, breathes in and delights in his familiar scent.

 

"What's the deal?" Bertrand asks. "Just feeling affectionate, or did something happen?"

 

"I don't know what to do about Gaspard. I have to stop obsessing over him." Xavier inhales. "I don't know if I'm trying to make some perfect version in my head that will never exist. I don't know what to do. He's attractive and brilliant and he's so many things I'll never be—"

 

"You're attractive and brilliant and a wonderful person, Xavier, don't give me this." Bertrand runs his hand over Xavier's head.

 

"You only like me 'cause I'm sexy," Xavier says, frowning. Maybe it's not true, but it's cathartic to say it.

 

"That's such bullshit! Don't talk to me if you're going to put yourself down." Bertrand still holds him tighter though, which makes Xavier wonder exactly how much truth was in his statement. "Did Gaspard say something? I can kick his ass if you want."

 

"No, don't kick his ass! I just don't think he likes me. He's probably gotten the complete wrong impression. I wish I could start again." He sighs. "But life isn't fucking fair. Let's just go back to the way we used to be. Gaspard be damned. Let him think whatever he wants."

 

"I'm not going to have sex with you tonight, Xavier," Bertrand warns, even though he keeps stroking Xavier's hair.

 

"You want to, though, don't you?" Xavier kisses Bertrand softly on his lips.

 

"No, I don't want to!" Bertrand actually has the nerve to fucking push him away. Xavier pulls the covers over his head and grinds his teeth. "Look," he says.

 

"I'm not listening to you. Don't give me bullshit," Xavier snaps.

 

"I'm not giving you bullshit. I'm just telling it like it is. You're acting like a child." Bertrand tries to pull the blanket off of Xavier's head but he holds it tight. "You always do this." Xavier can almost hear the gears in his head turning and he continues, "Maybe it's just because you're young. But it's not convincing, and it's not attractive."

 

"Fuck you," says Xavier, because what the hell, he's hurt and now he's just being abused. "You son of a bitch." He rolls out of the bed and starts to walk away, but changes his mind and leans in the doorway. "You still want me. You always said you liked it when I acted childish. It turns you on. You like me when I'm cranky. Don't you want to give me what I deserve? Don't you want to, mister?" He clings to the doorway, presses his face to the cold wood. "Sir, don't you want to give me what I need?"

 

"God damn it," says Bertrand, wiping his forehead. "There are a lot of things I want to give you, but I…" He blinks at Xavier, who is doing his best to pout and rub up against the doorway like a cat. "God _damn_." He shakes his head. "I want you to be happy. I don't want to ruin this thing with Gaspard. Go back to your bed."

 

"Fine, kick me out, I'm happy enough," Xavier says. He turns and walks down the hall, cursing imaginatively under his breath. And then he goes back to his room and jerks off furiously under his sheets, trying to remember Bertrand hitting him but really only able to think of Gaspard. Damn it all.

 

\---

 

But sometimes it only takes a night to change things. Xavier sleeps in, awoken only when Bertrand bangs on his door and yells for him to get dressed and help lift a piano from the sidewalk. He pulls on the first shirt he can find, a tight little one with a black and white and pink photo of Marilyn Monroe on it. Damn, he thinks, checking himself out in the mirror, I don't look half bad for all that lack of sleep. For good measure he ties a bandana around his forehead to keep sweat out of his eyes and also because it makes him look a bit fierce.

 

He nods when Gaspard says "Good morning" and then grins despite himself. It's Gaspard's piano they're hauling up. Gaspard plays piano. He thinks of Gaspard playing piano and his previous night's anger is forgotten. Maybe someday he could lay his head in Gaspard's lap while he played. Thoughts like that make heavy pianos seem light as a feather.

 

He's also amused because: Gaspard has been checking him out. It actually takes quite a while to get the piano all the way up to their apartment, and on the way all three of them get quite sweaty and Xavier's shirt feels even smaller. Gaspard absolutely cannot keep his eyes off him! And it's not as if he's mocking Xavier—no one averts their eyes, embarrassed, like that when they're trying to be mocking. No. Gaspard is genuinely interested. And, if Xavier's inclination is right, he has no idea whether Xavier is interested in him. Which for now is all right.

 

\---

 

While Bertrand is in the kitchen pouring ice water for the three of them and Gaspard is giving himself a back massage, something occurs to Xavier that makes his stomach drop through the floor.

 

He doesn't want to hit on Gaspard.

 

He'd thought it was because he wasn't sure Gaspard liked boys, but the thorough ogling he and Bertrand were getting has debunked that one for once and for all. He'd thought it was because Bertrand said Gaspard was a prude, but Gaspard is not a prude: he has _fantastic_ pornography, as Xavier discovered by curiously peeking into one of his boxes. Gaspard yawns; he smiles a little bit as a cool blast from the air conditioner ruffles his hair, and he rubs at the stubble on his chin.

Xavier does not want to hit on Gaspard, despite the fact that he's incredibly attracted by him, because he doesn't want Gaspard to think he's some kind of sex object. Other than the time he had a crush on his classmate when he was thirteen, he's fairly sure he's never felt this way about anyone. After all, he was fairly convinced that was what it was about—you get someone into your bed, then if you like them enough you keep them around. Evidently not.

 

Xavier walks over to the piano bench and gently brushes dust off the keys, imagining Gaspard playing for him. Bertrand would call it childish, but he wants to hear Gaspard play _now_—he deserves it, for God's sake, having gotten up just to lug this thing up the stairs!

 

"What do you play?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "Can you show us something?" Gaspard shuffles from side to side, looking embarrassed. Xavier narrows his eyes and pouts his lips. "We did help you drag this up here, after all."

 

"That's true, but I…" Gaspard looks down at the floor and sighs. "I really just use it to see how things will sound." Bull fucking shit, Mr. Augé, but have it your way.

 

"Well that's sad," says Xavier, sighing overdramatically. "It's a waste of a piano. Still—" He shrugs his shoulders, lets his hair fall down onto them, maybe even channeling a bit of Marilyn in case it helps. "Maybe you have had better things to do."

 

"Yes," says Gaspard. Xavier turns toward the piano so Gaspard can't see him giggling. How perfect is that—just the yes! Not a word of explanation! Gaspard doesn’t waste his breath. They're complementary, Xavier thinks.

 

"Maybe I can learn," he offers, sitting down on the bench and shifting until it's somewhat less uncomfortable. He waves his hands around dramatically for a bit first, making a mockery of a couple of overzealous pianists he's seen perform and also hoping to make Gaspard laugh. Gaspard doesn't, not even when Xavier pretends he has the slightest clue what he's doing and plays some chords. "See?" He turns around. "I'll be the next Mozart!" Gaspard is still not amused—that's so perfect, Xavier thinks, he loves this bloody instrument, makes his bullshitting so much more obvious.

 

"You will need a lot of practice," is all he says.

 

Bertrand, arriving with water, chimes in with "Don't quit your day job, Xavier!" and Xavier ducks and laughs.

 

"No, I won't," he has to agree. "I'll starve." Of course, Xavier doesn't actually have a day job, other than being a hired musician for friends of friends, but that's not the point. He still wants to convince Gaspard to play, so he gives an appreciative whistle and strokes the piano's keys like a lover. "This is a nice piano, though. Especially for someone who 'just wants to hear how things are going to sound'." He shrugs and hops off the bench to down his glass of water in one gulp. "But have it your way. I personally am going to get clean." He peels his shirt off and heads for the shower for some time to think.

 

\---

 

So there he is again, with that stupid flowery curtain hanging in front of him and the cobwebs staring at him from across the room, and he keeps trying to beat the stupid notion out of his head.

 

Xavier, he tells himself. You're not allowed. You are not going to fall for him. You are not falling in love. He's probably not even really that nice, you're probably just interpreting his asshole behavior as being shy or stoic or the strong silent type or whatever you want him to—

 

Oh, bullshit, bullshit, it's all bullshit. He's lived with Gaspard over a month now, and known him longer than that, and stolen him away from a cute girl so they could go record shopping, and gotten smashed with him at parties, and dragged him up to the flat rather than have him get coked up and useless, and stood next to him on stage and made lewd faces at him to get them both to loosen up at (also)starring shows, and God damn it but Gaspard really is everything Xavier is hoping for. He knows who Gaspard is, and he fucking loves that person.

 

Xavier scrubs his hair with bar soap and cleans his armpits and his back and shoves his face under the stream of water, and then he gets out of the shower and puts on a robe and decides to go out for a walk before the sun sets while the afternoon light is still golden. He's in love in Paris—living out a cliché—he might as well make the best of it.

 

"Hey, _pédé_!" Bertrand shouts at him from across the hall, laughing.

 

"You have sex with farm animals!" Xavier shouts back, grinning and drying his hair. And then he steps out into the city.

 

\---

 

He returns about an hour later, his hair blown about his face and the sun shining behind him, the sounds of car horns and children's laughter echoing in his head, a fresh loaf of bread in his shoulder bag…

 

…and Gaspard is playing the piano. Really playing. Xavier doesn't have enough classical knowledge to recognize the piece, but he knows it's a waltz, and he feels his spirit go off in a swirling dance around the room while his body just stands in the doorway. He closes his eyes, listening silently, and he's carried off to another world.

 

\---

 

Some time in the last sixteen hours, Xavier has gone absolutely insane. That's all he can say for himself. He's giddy, swinging his feet and delighting in the simplest, stupidest things Gaspard is doing, such as shopping online for shoes on Xavier's laptop.

 

"You can play piano," he remarks, not even really wanting to rub it in that he was right all along but rather hoping to show Gaspard his appreciation.

 

"Yes," Gaspard says, not turning from the screen. "I would never buy a piano just to hear how things sound." Xavier can hear the smile in his voice. "That was bullshit."

 

"I'm glad." Xavier rolls off his bed and peers at the computer screen over Gaspard's shoulder. "We need to talk sometime," he says, trying not to grin like an idiot. But what an idiot he's been! Why didn't he think to just _ask_?

 

"About what?"

 

"I don't know! Just everything." Xavier sighs out his nose. Gaspard just doesn’t get it, does he. But Xavier is willing to explain. "I have a feeling there are still a lot of things I could learn about you." He has a feeling he would probably fall even more in love with Gaspard, actually. But he's down with torturing himself a bit. Being tortured by love is romantic and good for one's reputation.

 

"Well, let's talk tonight then," says Gaspard, and maybe Xavier is just imagining it but he sounds as intrigued by the idea as Xavier is. "But first I have to choose a pair of shoes. Do you like these Vans?"

 

"They're all right," says Xavier, brain still going a mile a minute, "But I like the black and white ones better. But really…" He grabs the mouse and finds his own favorite shoe site, with a pair of shoes that actually reminded him of Gaspard when he first saw them. "See this?" He points at the screen so hard his finger makes a little dent in the LCD. "These would be perfect for you."

 

"That's a bit frightening," Gaspard remarks, but nonetheless he pulls over a bit of paper and sketches the shape of the shoes. "How is this?" he asks, filling the whitespace with a pattern of keyholes, the old fashioned-kind that you'd use with a skeleton key or something romantic like that.

 

"I love it," says Xavier, unable to stop his smile. And he really does love it. He almost wants to profess his love for Gaspard, but he knows that's just the Paris air and the sun getting to him. "You are so talented," he says instead, trying to restrain himself. "I am lucky to be working with you."

 

Gaspard, to Xavier's delight, orders the shoes in his size while Xavier crawls up onto the bed. And Gaspard joins him!

 

"Hi," says Xavier, nearly breathless.

 

Gaspard waves at him and grins.

 

\---

 

And what's perfect is that even though Xavier wouldn't complain in the slightest, it doesn't lead to sex the way these things usually tend to. 'Let's talk,' in Xavier's experience, usually actually means 'let's talk about your tight ass, your 'exotic' eyes, the things I’m going to do to you when I get your clothes off.'

 

But not Gaspard. No, not Gaspard. With Gaspard, it apparently means, 'Let's talk about our favorite shoe brands and why I like to draw keyholes and the time I got drum lessons from my art history teacher and what if we got to design guitars and are you actually Chinese or is that just our friends being obnoxious and are you actually gay or is that just our friends being obnoxious too and by the way, I'm glad I went out with you that night instead of the girl I was tentatively dating because you're more interesting.'

 

"You know," Xavier is saying, "All your metal is great—it's some of my favorite music, too, but I think you should listen to more disco. It's healthy for a growing boy. Besides, you fit the part perfectly. You might need a better moustache though." He traces with his fingers where he thinks Gaspard's mustache should be, much more turned on than he wants to admit by the thought of Gaspard with a fantastic mustache. Then he notices Gaspard looks a little uncomfortable. "Oh, I'm sorry!" He pulls his hands away, scrambling for excuses. "Bertrand always says I touch people too much. I think I'm too used to having three siblings, and we're always arm-wrestling or shoving each other around."

 

"Yeah," says Gaspard, sounding like he's only been half-listening to Xavier's explanation, which suits Xavier fine as it's the middle of the night after all.

 

"Well, I'll be more careful. Anyway, as I was saying you need to listen to disco. And you should get one of those jackets, as they wear. You could be like 'Saturday Night Fever'. Avoid the high platforms, though. Once I put on a pair of platform heels, and I fell over on my face. And so that was the last time I wore high platforms."

 

Gaspard laughs gently at this story and sighs, looking like he can't believe Xavier at all. Of course, that fits, because Xavier can't believe him either.

 

"I wish we'd done this sooner," he says softly.

 

"It's nice," says Gaspard dreamily. His head is settling into the pillow and Xavier thinks he's falling asleep. Oh, the exquisite torture! Gaspard's lovely head, his warm body, mere inches from Xavier's own! Yes, he's being overdramatic of course, but, well, he blames the summer heat and the fresh bread and the will of Our Lord because Our Lord always seems to be doing this sort of thing to him anyway; it's just his luck.

 

"Stay awake," Xavier pleads. "I want to talk to you. I like you so much." He's too late, of course. Gaspard is fast asleep and mumbling something under his breath. But maybe it's better that way. The poetry of it all has not escaped him.

 

\---

 

At some point in the night Gaspard stirs, awakening in turn Xavier, who stays as silent as humanly possible, and gets up off the bed, swearing under his breath. Xavier doesn't stop him but instead watches him leave, watches his shadow stretch across the floor, and rolls over into the place where the mattress is still warm.

 

\---

 

"I was so close," Xavier complains to Bertrand one day when Gaspard is in a class and they finally have the apartment to themselves. "He was _sleeping on my bed_…"

 

"I don't know what to tell you." Bertrand shrugs. "This isn't like you."

 

"I know, and that's the damn problem." Annoyed, Xavier raps out a beat with his fists on a cupboard. "If it were any other person in the entire world, you know that's just what I'd do—I'd grab him by the collar of his shirt and tell him what he wants. But I don't want him to want the...the usual thing." He shakes his head, trying to rid it of the loose words fluttering inside it. "I mean, I do, though! I want to…"

 

"What?" Bertrand says teasingly and pinches Xavier's cheek like he's a child. "Tell us what you want, Xavier."

 

"I want to make love?" he says, softly, realizing he's probably blushing like a schoolgirl. "I feel like I'm in a bad movie," he adds. "Or a romance novel. Bad boy turned good for the sake of his loved one."

 

"Oh, I wouldn't venture that far," says Bertrand. He slaps Xavier on the ass. "The bad boy is still in there." Xavier turns even hotter and tries to arrange his face into a protesting scowl. Bertrand isn't supposed to be touching his ass! That's in direct violation of…things…and stuff…. Xavier leans back against the cabinet and drums his fingers on the sink.

 

"Unless I do something, we'll just stay like this," he muses. "Even if he wants me like I want him, he's too shy to make a move. But what if I do the wrong thing?"

 

"Actually, I've thought of an alternative," says Bertrand, smiling slyly. "I can put some ideas in his head. I bet there's room underneath all those curls for the seeds to take hold. What about it?"

 

"Don't tell him anything personal," says Xavier, even though he knows it's a lost cause. "But um…maybe if you could just make him subtly aware of the fact that I'm available, or something…." He smiles sweetly.

 

"Done, on one condition," says Bertrand, his smile widening.

 

"Which is what?" Bertrand points to the side of his mouth.

 

"That you kiss me." He crosses his arms expectantly and taps his foot. Xavier narrows his eyes. "Come on, it's good luck!"

 

"Good luck, my foot—why don't you just kiss my ass," he grumbles, but he figures he might as well go ahead and make use of his assets and kisses Bertrand anyway.

 

\---

 

It all adds up to leave Xavier hanging on tenterhooks. There's this ever-narrowing gulf between him and Gaspard, and he doesn't know what Bertrand is telling him or how he'll take it. It's sort of like he's driving and trying to swerve out of the way before a head-on collision with a completely clueless driver. Maybe the other driver is on the phone or something—whatever makes the metaphor work. The point is, depending on how it all goes, it could either be the luckiest day of his life or a gigantic mess. He's got his fingers crossed for 'luckiest day of my life'.

 

Bertrand is talking to Gaspard while Xavier plays video games, which is bothering the ever-loving crap out of Xavier because he has no idea whether they're talking about him. But of course if he comes up and asks them out of the blue, Gaspard will suspect something's going on. This is all much less simple than Bertrand made it sound. But if it works out right, it's worth much more than a kiss. (And he gave Bertrand quite a kiss, after all!)

 

His frustration, combined with the fact that he's just run off the track in F-Zero and gone quickly from first to last place, is enough to make him want to throw something. So he does—he pitches the controller at the opposite wall, where it makes a satisfying _thunk_, and shouts expletives at the television, feeling much more calm after this outburst.

 

Bertrand laughs with Gaspard and then shouts at Xavier to "Control yourself, I don't want to have to replace any of that!" Xavier dutifully does, happy enough to whistle along with the music as his level restarts. It's going very well for the first half-lap, but then he gets to the same point and his car goes into flames.

 

"Fuck your mother!" he shouts, slightly gleefully, and turns off the Super Nintendo so he can walk over to where Gaspard and Bertrand are sitting, now having an excuse to listen in on their conversation.

 

But no luck. "I'm going out," says Bertrand. "You two have fun, right?"

 

"Fuck you," says Xavier—playfully, but with enough of an angry face that he hopes Bertrand will get the message. "I'm already bored out of my mind, and now you won't even be here to entertain me." Gaspard makes that unreadable face of his, which makes Xavier want to bother him so he laughs. "Well, I'll entertain myself by poking Gaspard and watching him make funny noises." He pokes Gaspard in the arm and Gaspard lets out a squeaking sound like a rubber duck makes when you squeeze it. Bertrand gives a cheeky smile and leaves, marking the time when Xavier has to figure out whether whatever he's said to Gaspard is enough to convince him.

 

But Gaspard just keeps giving him a blank expression. Xavier suddenly imagines rubbing his face and hands along Gaspard's stubble which is such an obscenely sensual thing, more than it's ever been for him, that he knows he needs to get out of there before he gets in trouble.

  
"I'm going to take a nap," he says, keeping it simple, and strides over to the couch where he lies down, blinking one eye open to see if he's being watched. Gaspard's expression doesn't change. Does he keep that expression on his face every moment of his waking life when he's not laughing? For God's sake! Xavier wonders what other expressions he could get out of Gaspard, and then he starts thinking about what Gaspard looks like when he comes and then he has to roll over onto his front before he _really_ gets in trouble.

 

\---

 

But he doesn't really go to sleep, though he is a bit tired and dozes off from time to time only to jerk himself awake. He just wants to watch Gaspard to see what he does—and he doesn’t stare at Xavier, he doesn't stand over him and watch the way Xavier probably would if it were Gaspard who was sleeping. And that just makes him better, in the end, doesn't it. He's so pure. He's probably not really pure at all, especially because Xavier actually knows he has a horribly crass sense of humor from time to time (though not as horribly crass as Xavier's own, and light years behind Bertrand's in the Horribly Crass Olympics, to mix his metaphors a little).

 

But he's still so—different. In fact, the one time he was asleep while Bertrand was there, Bertrand was feeling him up. He'd actually _like_ Gaspard to be feeling him up, but not while he was supposedly unaware of it. Although the image is still there in his head, and it's still not helping him out of his worked-up state. How's that for confused emotions?

 

Gaspard gets out his sketchbook, but it's facing away from Xavier, so what's the fun in that? The only entertainment value is in watching him chew up his pencil and give very intense (yet still slightly blank-stare-like) looks at the pages. After a little while of this torture, Xavier finally 'wakes up', stretches, and walks toward the kitchen, supposing he'll eat something and then get some _actual_ sleep.

 

Light glances off something in the distance, and he pauses to perch on the windowsill and watch the people walk below. It's relaxing and has nothing to do with filthy Gaspard-related mental images, which is nice because otherwise he's going to be walking around the apartment with a hard-on and, well, talk about awkward.

 

However, awkward is also when your ass really hurts from having a windowsill jabbing you right in the tailbone, so after a few moments of gazing into the afternoon sun, he drops down to the floor and tries to massage out his pain. "Remind me never to do that again," he notes.

 

"Okay," says Gaspard, and looks like he's about to respond, but just stares. Xavier becomes suddenly self-conscious, especially of the fact that for all intents and purposes he's massaging his own ass, and Gaspard is giving him a little bit of unconscious elevator eyes.

 

"What?" says Xavier, unable to resist smiling cheekily.

 

"Um, nothing." But Gaspard doesn't exactly look away. _Right_, thinks Xavier.

 

"If you say so." And that's when it hits him. Maybe Bertrand has said something so incredibly filthy—because Bertrand _would_, knowing him—that Gaspard actually wants to get Xavier in bed right now. Feeling ever more uncomfortable, with the sudden realization that everything has probably _worked_ and _too_ damn well, of course, and now it's just going to be the same way as always, Xavier pushes past Gaspard and makes his way to the kitchen before he goes into histrionics.

 

But not only does he have that uncomfortable feeling that Gaspard's eyes are on him, Gaspard also grabs him by the shoulder. "What do you _want_?" Xavier demands, more than a little bothered.

 

"I just want to tell you something," Gaspard says, stuttering a little. On his face is an emotion Xavier can finally recognize—he looks out of his mind and nervous as all fuck. Before Xavier really knows what's happening, Gaspard is taking his hand, holding it gently in his grasp and brushing his lips lightly against Xavier's knuckles.

 

Oh God.

 

He didn't change at all.

 

Xavier feels a lump in his throat, and a shiver runs all through him.

 

"Don't—don't do that," he gasps, feeling a little dizzy. "I…I might cry…" Gaspard's hand is still softly curled around Xavier's own. It's too damn perfect. All of it.

 

"Why not?" Gaspard looks devastated. "Don't _cry_—"

 

"It's too _good_." Xavier pulls back his hand and uses it to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead. "You…" For once he doesn't know what to say, and just shakes his hand.

 

"Well, that was all," Gaspard says nervously, with a shrug. He looks away. Xavier's stomach twists with empathy.

 

"I'm sorry," he says, managing a little smile. "You just…took me by surprise." Gaspard doesn't look like he's going to say anything else, but he still looks so _sad_. Xavier pulls his wits together. "I like surprises. Maybe you should surprise me again sometime." Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they simultaneously turn back in their respective original directions. Xavier needs to be alone with his thoughts, and he suspects Gaspard does too.

 

\---

 

"He kissed my hand," Xavier says to Bertrand, staring out the window and not at him at all. "I'm so in love with him it's killing me." Bertrand gently puts a hand on Xavier's arm.

 

"I'm glad our plans seem to have worked, but what are you going to do now?"

 

"I don't know." He momentarily distracts himself by watching a couple argue on the street. The woman digs something out of her purse and throws it at the man, who just shouts at her and then walks away. She drops her cigarette, stubs it out with the toe of her shoe, and then breaks down crying. "I have to admit, all this waiting is bothering me."

 

"He's a good person."

 

"I know _that_." Is he a moron or something?

 

"I'm just saying, I mean—he's better than I am," Bertrand insists. "Don't give up what you have. You'll be lucky to have him. He'll treat you right."

 

"Are you…" Xavier refuses to look into Bertrand's eyes, a bit afraid of what he might see there. "Are you saying you didn't treat me right?" It hurts to let the words out, because Xavier realizes he won't necessarily turn around and swallow them if Bertrand agrees. Just because Xavier got a rush from being slapped around and called names doesn't mean it's what's good for his mental health, in the long run.

 

"You deserve to love and be loved, and I couldn't give you that." Then he shakes his head. "But you had better be good to him too. _I_ like being teased the way you used to tease me and I had fun pulling you away when you were flirting with other boys. But he's different—or at least I can't say for sure he isn't."

 

"Bertrand." Xavier looks at his face now. "I will do almost anything for love."

 

There's an uncomfortable moment between them then. Admitting something like this is a gesture much more intimate than stripping naked for Bertrand or putting Bertrand's dick in his mouth or any of the stuff they did when they were sleeping together. Bertrand smiles a little bit.

 

"And that makes _him_ a lucky man."

 

"Probably." Xavier fidgets, eyes a poster on the wall. "I'm a little scared."

 

"That's understandable." Bertrand pats him on the back.

 

"I'd probably be less nervous about all this if I were still getting laid." He frowns. It's actually been over a month now since Xavier has had anyone other than his own hand to keep him company. "Why am I not getting laid, anyway? He's in love with me, I'm in love with him, it should all work out, we should be having deep and meaningful lovemaking, and I should be getting laid!"

 

"Your time will come, I'm sure of it." Bertrand squeezes Xavier with one arm. "I'm sure it will be worth the wait."

 

\---

 

It is.

 

It's the night of the release party for the big Musclorvision compilation, _Hits Up to You_. The story goes like this: Gaspard and Xavier unanimously decided that the album, which was a mock-Eurovision compilation, needed to have at least one cheesy, disco-influenced synthpop track, obviously about love, and Antoine told them they might as well just make one if they were going to get all bothered about it. So they did, a sweet little tune called "Sure You Will", and they called their act _Justice_.

 

"Justice?" Antoine had asked. Gaspard and Xavier gestured wordlessly at Gaspard's Metallica …_And Justice For All_ T-shirt in response. Also, it was the same word in English as in French, and they were singing in English, so it all made sense.

 

In any case, Musclorvision Records throw a party for them, packing a small underground club with their friends. Xavier and Gaspard get pulled up to DJ and Xavier is just so taken with the whole thing that not long after he's thrown down their final song—the Korgis' "Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime"—he yanks Gaspard under the table by his arm and presses their lips together.

 

Xavier's fears of rejection are alleviated when Gaspard tangles his hands in Xavier's hair and deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue past Xavier's lips. Xavier pushes a lock of Gaspard's hair behind his ear and Gaspard pulls back only to kiss Xavier again, running his hands along Xavier's sides and resting them on his hips.

 

"Let's go home, quickly," Xavier breathes in his ear. "I want…"

 

"I have some ideas about what you want," Gaspard teases him. "_I_ want to call a cab."

 

"Good plan."

 

One very awkward cab ride later, Xavier tells Gaspard he's going to go down on him and he does, right in the middle of the floor, both of them so aroused they're shaking the whole time. They keep kissing too, not just lips but all over, and Gaspard kisses Xavier on the wrist and then fucking _licks _his arm which is just kind of incredible.

 

He's going to like this.

 

When Gaspard has finished, Xavier swallows politely and then Gaspard takes care of Xavier with his hand. Maybe he's a little bit more forceful than Xavier or Bertrand realized, because he gets suddenly demanding, begging Xavier to say something in Vietnamese before he'll let him come.

 

But Xavier will. He's glad to. He's been wanting to say the damn thing for ages, so he might as well.

 

"_I love you_," he says, feeling himself blush even though in all probability Gaspard can't understand him, which is a good thing because in this haze he's actually used the phrase a woman would use but it doesn't matter, he might as well be speaking gibberish—but then, when Xavier looks at his face, oh God, he _does_ know, and that's enough to make Xavier come if anything is. So he does, turning into a gasping, shuddering mess in Gaspard's arms.

 

And then he just sits there, smelling Gaspard's smell, feeling Gaspard's hands on his bare skin, realizing just how worth it this has been.

 

When Xavier finally stands up, he smirks and says, "Come sleep in my bed." Gaspard looks so incredibly pleased to hear this that it reminds Xavier of a dog when it's told it's time to go for a walk. They clean the floor and then get under Xavier's covers for more kissing and more exploring of each other's bodies. It's too late and they're too worn out for it to be sexual so much as just, if Xavier dares use the word, romantic. Maybe this is what it's supposed to be like.

 

Xavier turns on the radio, flipping channels until he finds something soft.

 

"Do you think someday every song could be about us?" Gaspard asks. Xavier definitely knows the answer this time.

 

"They already are."

 

\---

 

"I want to know something," Xavier says, a few songs later and after they've had some time to breathe. "Please don't get offended."

 

"How could I?" Gaspard gently pushes Xavier.

 

"Well, when I told you about the three ways to get to know somebody…"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Why did you laugh at me?" Xavier watches a bug fly around near the ceiling. At one point it hits its head.

 

"Laugh at you? I thought that was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard."

 

"Oh."

 

"Come here."

 

Gaspard puts his arms around Xavier.

 

"Listen," he says as Xavier nestles into his chest. "I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt you. Not on purpose. You're my friend."

 

"You've made me go all mushy inside, you know," says Xavier matter-of-factly. Gaspard really has, though; somehow hearing that he has a friend is even more meaningful than hearing that Gaspard loves him. But then, anyone will say he loves you if he thinks it will get a reaction. Gaspard, on the other hand, is one of a kind.

 

"I try. You're fun when you're all mushy."

 

"Am I?" Gaspard rubs Xavier's head.

 

"Absolutely."

 

They lie there a few minutes more, at which point something occurs to Xavier.

 

"You know, tonight was really special," he says.

 

"Oh, it was that," Gaspard replies, a smile evident in his voice.

 

"Oh, I didn't even mean the sex." The word rings in his head because he's still taking a while to register that he has actually had sex with Gaspard and it was fantastic! In any case, it's not what he meant. "I meant at the party, the moment when…well, all the moments, really. I just thought, we should keep doing this. That is, instead of doing whatever shit everyone else does during the summer, you know, going to the Mediterranean or Ibiza or whatever, we could do more of…_our_ shit." Gaspard laughs.

 

"So, not the sex but the music," he summarizes. "Although I don't see why that would stop us from going to Ibiza."

 

"You just want to party like it's your birthday, don't you?" Xavier teases. "You don't care about working at all, do you?"

 

"First party, then work—no, first party, then fuck, then work, that's better for mental health," says Gaspard, letting one of his arms slide down to Xavier's waist. "So is basking in the sun. My first year at school I figured I would be like you too, but after a while here I realized it was pointless when there are so many other interesting things to do."

 

"Well, I could be a genius like you, but I wasn't born that way. I need more effort."

 

"Don't even say that! Don't even!" Gaspard puts a finger to his lips. Xavier has never felt more in love.

 

\---

 

"Do you think we could do something incredible?" Xavier asks, after time has passed and the moon is shining straight through their window. "Do you think we could be more than who we think we are?"

 

"Justice for all…" says Gaspard softly, and then they both laugh, near sleep.

 

\---

 

Xavier suddenly finds himself enamored with flowers.

 

It will probably pass, but as summer reaches its hottest point and the boys and girls of Paris wear less and less clothing, Xavier keeps picking the bright-colored flowers of midsummer and putting them all over the apartment.

 

They spend May afternoons together, just the three of them, for a few more months while their life hangs on the precipice of changing: Bertrand at his artist's easel, Gaspard at the piano keys, and Xavier amidst the flowers, daydreaming.


End file.
